If thou uncommon merit haft, Yet fpurn'd at Fortune's door, man; A look of pity hither caft, For Matthew was a poor man. That paffeft by this grave, man, There moulders here a gallant heart; For Matthew was a brave man. If thou on men, their works and ways, If thou at Friendship's facred ca' If If thou art ftaunch without a ftain, This was a kinfman o' thy ain, If thou haft wit, and fun and fire, This was thy billie, dam, and fire, If ony whiggifh whingin fot, To blame poor Matthew dare, man; May dool and forrow be his lot, For Matthew was a rare man. LAMENT LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. Now Nature hangs her mantle On every blooming tree, green And spreads her sheets o' daifies white Out o'er the graffy lea: VOL. II. M Now A Now Phoebus chears the crystal streams, And glads the azure skies ; But nought can glad the weary wight That faft in durance lies. Now laverocks wake the merry morn, Aloft on dewy wing; The merle, in his noontide bow'r, The mavis mild wi' many a note, In love and freedom they rejoice, Now blooms the lily by the bank, The hawthorn's budding in the glen, And milk-white is the flae: The meaneft hind in fair Scotland May rove their fweets amang; But But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, I was the Queen o' bonnie France, Fu' lightly rafe I in the morn, As blythe lay down at e'en: And I'm the fov'reign of Scotland, And mony a traitor there; Yet here I lie in foreign bands, i meat sat en 3. And never ending care. But as for thee, thou false woman, My fifter and my fae, Grim vengeance, yet, fhall whet a fword Was never known to thee ; Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe Frae woman's pitying e'e. |